


Marks

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: LAOFT Extras [85]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Past Harm to Children, that last tag is me being maybe overly cautious, the harm to children was NOT malicious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21594787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: We all leave them on each other.Some are more visible than others.
Relationships: Dot (Cartoon Therapy) & Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: LAOFT Extras [85]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1365505
Comments: 26
Kudos: 470





	Marks

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt:
> 
> "Does Logan have a scar from when Dot touched a hot poker to him as a baby?" (from an anon on tumblr)
> 
> fuckin oof yall. this was A Lot, emotionally speaking
> 
> and a big thank you to @trivia-goddess for 1) beta-reading this the day before Thanksgiving goodness gracious, and 2) making me feel super smiley about my ability to deck people in the face with emotions

Logan was almost always quiet.

Dot was used to it – found it endearing, most days, because times he wasn’t quiet usually meant he was hurt, or sick, or upset. A quiet Logan was a Logan who didn’t feel the need to announce his presence - every time Dot startled at a tiny eight-year-old hand pulling the hem of her shirt without warning was just a precursor to whatever bright little query he had for her today.

It would be easy to tell the _bad_ silences from the normal ones, even if they _weren’t_ always accompanied by Dot arriving to pick the boys up from the elementary school to find Thomas somehow-attached to his brother – either holding his hand or his arms around Logan’s shoulders – and glaring at all the other children.

Bad silence came with Logan’s hands wound in the hem of his shirt, hiding the bruises – or worse, little bleeding nicks – of teeth-marks. Logan usually looked at her mouth when she spoke – he said her lipstick helped him focus on the words – but on bad days he looked past her entirely, eyes focused somewhere over her shoulder.

He was always a serious little kid, solemn and earnest – but now he was grim, only humming at her when she asked about his day, and the little squeeze of his head and shoulder around her hand when she reached back for them between the seats too tight and rippling with tension.

Logan stayed quiet on the ride home, and Dot didn’t push him. He would talk when he was ready to talk, and not a second earlier.

He perked up just a bit more as he and Thomas sat at the kitchen table doing their homework, especially drawing the little life-cycle diagrams. Maybe he needed to feel a little better before he could bring it up.

Thomas, unsurprisingly, decided to go to their room after homework was finished. He’d been having a lot of fun lately with some kind of dog game on his DS.

What _was_ surprising was that Logan did not go with him.

Dot turned to look in the fridge for some kind of side for dinner – Larry had chili going in the slow cooker but maybe she could make cornbread to go with it – and as she did she heard some rushed whispering, and then the sound of feet ambling off to their room.

But then there was a little tug on her shirt, and Dot turned around to find Logan, his other hand wound around the edge of his neckline.

“What’s up, Loganberry?” she said gently.

There was a short pause, where Logan opened his mouth and closed it briefly before he spoke, a little hesitant.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Dot’s mouth quirked up just a little.

“Help me make cornbread?”

Logan nodded.

“Sure you can, honey,” she said, “Do you want it to be spicy?”

Logan nodded again, much more enthusiastically.

“Okay,” she laughed, “Can you go get a can of chilies from the pantry?”

Logan trotted off, and Dot pulled the rest of the ingredients out of the fridge and cupboards.

“I’m gonna have to turn the mixer on,” she warned him, “Is that okay?”

Logan wrinkled his nose slightly, but he nodded.

“Great!” she said, “So what do we do first?”

“Wash our hands,” said Logan seriously.

“Very good!”

And off they went, stirring and mixing and Dot occasionally leaning over to adjust Logan’s hands on the not-quite-his-size whisk or to pick a bit of loose eggshell out of the bowl he’d missed.

It did take a bit longer than it normally did – but who cared? Dot would have happily made as much cornbread as Logan wanted.

She placed the glass dish on the center rack, and shut the oven door with a little flourish.

“There,” she said, “Now we just have to clean up!”

When she turned to look down at him, Logan was frowning at the closed oven, his face wrinkled with displeasure.

“…Logan?” she prompted.

He was standing very still – which made the tiny hitch of his shoulders all the more noticeable. Dot hid her wince.

“Let’s wash our hands, okay?” she said softly.

Logan nodded, pushing the stool over to the other side of the counter. Dot waited, and when he finished and stepped down from the sink, she leaned over to wash her own.

Only for Logan to wiggle under her extended arm, squeezing between her stomach and the counter, and press his face into her sweater.

Dot bit her tongue to keep back heartbroken noise she was sure Logan wouldn’t appreciate. She rushed through scrubbing off the flour and egg and didn’t bother going after the dish towel, just wiped her hands on her slacks as she crouched down in front of Logan.

“Hey, buddy,” she said quietly.

Logan’s face was already blotchy, though the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes hadn’t spilled over. He hadn’t let go of her shirt when she’d gotten down, so he was leaning forward with his hands still gripping the fabric.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t kn-know _,_ ” he sniffed, “It doesn’t- it doesn’t make any sense,”

“Yeah,” she said, patting his hair softly, “Feelings are like that, sometimes. Would you like to sit with me in the living room? Maybe I can help you,”

Logan let go of her shirt with one hand to scrub his face a little. Nodding, he kept the other in a tight grip around the fabric as she lead him to couch and still didn’t let go as he crawled up next to her.

“Alright,” she said, “You don’t know what’s wrong?”

“I-”

He let out a short, frustrated noise.

“I kn-know- I know what _made_ me upset but I don’t know _why,”_

“Well, that’s a good place to start,” said Dot, “What made you upset?”

Logan shook his head furiously.

“ _No,_ ” he said, “It doesn’t make sense,”

Dot hummed, fiddling with his hair again.

“So you think you _shouldn’t_ be upset?” she said, “Because the thing that upset you doesn’t make sense?”

Logan nodded.

“Why doesn’t it make sense?”

“It’s not true,”

Dot tried to keep all the anger simmering under her skin from showing, her expression carefully neutral.

“Did someone say something to you that wasn’t true?”

Another nod.

“Can you tell me what it was?”

Logan looked absolutely miserable.

“But it’s not _true!_ ” he cried, “I’m being ir-ration-al!”

“Oh, buddy,” she said, barely containing the laugh, “You’re eight. You get to be irrational,”

Logan sniffed.

“It will make you _sad_ ,” he said miserably, “I hate making you sad,”

It took several seconds for Dot to swallow around the lump in her throat.

“Logan,” she said, her voice a little faint, “It’s not your job to keep me from being sad. It’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around,”

He didn’t look convinced.

“It will make you especially sad,” he said weakly.

She smiled down at him, cupping his face.

“Well, I’m a big girl, buddy,” she said, “I promise I’ll be alright. I just want to help you right now,”

Tapping his fingers on his jeans, Logan let out a defeated sigh.

“Robbie said-”

Dot was already so irritated at the mere mention of Karen’s little terror of a son that she almost didn’t hear what Logan said next.

Almost.

“-That you love Thomas more than me,”

Dot inhaled sharply.

“See!” Logan exclaimed, “I made you _sad_ -”

“No, honey,” said Dot firmly, “ _You_ didn’t make me sad. And you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m glad you told me, so I can understand why you’re upset,”

“But it’s not _true,_ ” said Logan, “How can- why am I still upset if it’s not true?”

“People usually _aren’t_ telling the truth when they’re being mean, Logan,” said Dot, “That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to have hurt feelings about it,”

Logan kicked his feet over the edge of the couch. He’d turned away from her now, though he still hadn’t let go of her shirt.

And the worst part… the worst part was that Dot knew there was more to it. Her and Larry did all they could, every time they managed to pry something like this out of one or both boys, but the fact was – the other children were mean to Logan. Even when he was with the teachers Dot and Larry had managed to get on their side, they couldn’t watch him constantly.

So while Dot wished he didn’t _have to,_ Logan was quickly growing into verbal wit that far surpassed the other kids his age. He was a little smart aleck, simply put, and on the days it didn’t break her heart is really did make Dot very proud.

So if something had upset him _this_ much, that he couldn’t shrug it off even hours later? It must have been _awful,_ and Dot pushed the lid on her still-simmering anger down as far as she could manage.

“Did Robbie say anything else?”

Logan punched the couch cushion beside him.

“It’s not tr-”

“I know, honey,” said Dot, reaching across to squeeze his free hand, “And I’m so- I’m so proud of you, and happy that you know it’s not true. But I would really like to know what Robbie said, so I can try and figure out why it upset you so much,”

Logan chewed on his lip, clearly thinking it over.

“He said that… that you love Thomas more, and I called him a ‘hateful cretin’ and informed him that love was not a finite resource, in spite of his own mother’s clear lack of skill at it,”

“Oh, gee,” said Dot, trying to sound as disapproving – or at least as _neutral –_ as possible when she really just wanted to high-five him for it.

“And then, and then he said he had proof,” said Logan, speeding up slightly, “To which I ob-vi-ous-ly accused him of speaking falsehoods, because- because you can’t prove something that’s not true, that’s not how it _works,_ and he grabbed me-”

“Grabbed you?” cut in Dot, “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” said Logan, “He just- my shirt, and-”

And then Logan laid his own hand on his left shoulder, and Dot’s stomach sank all the way to her feet.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“And it’s _not_ proof but I couldn’t- I couldn’t make any of the words work to explain why and, then, then I started crying, and-”

“Oh, sweetie,” said Dot, voice cracking, “Is- could I give you a hug?”

Logan didn’t even respond, just flung himself at her and grabbed her so tightly it was like he was trying to burrow his way into her sweater like a mole.

In the spot Logan had touched, under his shirt and invisible right now – but not to Dot, because Dot knew the shape and color of it exactly, could probably draw it blindfolded – was a shiny, stretched mark. Shaped like a bullet, and twisted with thick lines of ropy scar tissue, it was close to as wide as her thumb. It had started closer to the size of her pinkie.

Dot ought to know. She’d done it to him.

There were only so many ways to resolve a changeling switch. And Logan – Logan had been so _young._ Most of them involved tricking the changeling themself, but Logan was the youngest changeling anyone in Wickhills had ever even heard of. He hadn’t been able to hold up his _head,_ let alone be tricked.

And she’d tried so _hard._ The thought of May left a bitter taste on her tongue even years later, but Dot knew how to dress a wound. She’d been _meticulous_ with it; she’d set _timers._

It hadn’t helped. Dot tried not to have it be the first thing she looked at every time Logan wasn’t wearing a shirt, and she only succeeded most days.

On the very worst days, when Dot’s stomach roiled with guilt until she was dizzy, she wondered if the fairy woman could have been able to heal it. If a Logan who hadn’t grown up with a mortal mother with clumsy, mundane hands wouldn’t have to wear the scar she’d given him for the rest of his life.

But even then, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Even in the dark moments when Dot wondered if she’d really made the choice that was best for Logan, or if she’d just managed to justify the selfish desire to keep the fussy, bright-eyed baby that had stolen her heart just as quickly as Thomas had, she knew it hadn’t really been a _choice_ at all.

Dot ran her fingers through Logan’s hair, and kissed the top of his head.

“It’s okay to feel bad that Robbie said that,” said Dot, internally composing the absolute tirade she was going to unleash on Karen the next time she got in arms reach, “It’s very mean of him to bring up something that bothers you so much,”

Dot felt Logan frown against her shirt, and then he said something to muffled by the fabric for her to make out.

“What’s that, sweetie?”

Logan propped his chin on her chest on looked up at her with a tiny, adorable scowl.

“It doesn’t bother me,”

Dot blinked down at him.

“It bothered me that I- because I couldn’t… ar-tic-u-late, why it was okay,”

Dot winced.

“Logan, sweetie, you know- you know it’s _not_ okay for grown-ups to hurt you?”

“I don’t even _remember!”_ said Logan, shaking a little, “I don’t see why it- why it should matter. And I hate when you get sad when you see it,”

Another wince, much sharper this time.

“I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t- I didn’t realize you noticed. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,”

Logan went very still.

And then he shot straight up, tapping excitedly on his legs and then hers, smiling wide.

“I figured it out! I have a so-lu-tion,”

“You do?” said Dot, equally confused and fond.

“Yes!” said Logan, “If you say sorry for the poker, I can forgive you, and then neither of us will be sad!”

It took several seconds for Dot to even attempt words around the cloying fist in her throat.

“Like how when Bug broke my lucky pencil, and he said sorry, and I knew he didn’t mean to so I forgave him and then we were not upset anymore,”

A _lucky pencil,_ god, he was so- Logan was so smart, and so articulate, sometimes Dot could almost forget he was eight years old and not a tiny, squeaky-voiced adult. And yet here he was, comparing permanently scarring him with a broken writing utensil, like they were even remotely comparable.

But he was looking up at her, so bright-eyed and excited that he’d solved the puzzle, and Dot couldn’t do anything but indulge him.

“Okay,” she said, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice, “I- I am _very_ sorry for hurting you with the poker, baby,”

“I accept your apology,” said Logan, clearly trying for solemn even as his excitement was bleeding through. He sat up on his knees so their faces were right next to each other, “And I forgive you, um, a lot,”

He kissed her cheek, and Dot barely managed not to sob.

“Thank you,” she said, and Logan either didn’t notice how thick her voice was or he didn’t feel it was important to point out, “Do you feel better?”

Logan screwed up his face in concentration.

“Not as much as I thought,” he admitted, “But still a lot,”

“I’m glad,”

“Do you?” he said.

Dot meant to lie to him. She wasn’t proud of it, lying to her children, but sometimes you just had to, because they were _children_ and they didn’t need to know about grown-up problems.

But.

Well. Dot did actually… feel a little bit better.

“I do,” she said, “I do feel better, sweetie,”

She lunged forward and pressed a smattering of kisses all over the side of his face, and Logan squealed in response.

“You’re so smart!” she said, Logan’s bright smile burning away most of the tears trying to gather behind her eyes, “How’d you get so smart?”

“I read a lot,” said Logan earnestly.

“Well, I gotta get you more books!” Dot exclaimed theatrically, “So you can get even smarter!”

Logan rocked happily.

“Are we going to the _library?”_ he said enthusiastically.

“We sure can,” said Dot, “Tomorrow I’ll take you and Tommy to the library, as soon as it opens,”

Logan’s hands gave a few excited little flaps, and he kissed Dots cheek again before scrambling down from the couch and bolting for the twin’s bedroom.

“Bug! Bug, Momma says we’re goin’ to the library tomorrow!”

Dot couldn’t quite make out Thomas’s response, but it sounded just as delighted. Slowly, Dot stood up from the couch and moved toward the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to glance over at the fireplace.

The set of tools in the stand next to it were not the ones they’d had when Thomas was born. Dot had come home after getting groceries, a few days after one baby in the house had turned to two, and they’d been gone, and the next day these had been there. Those had been black, and these were gold. Dot had appreciated it, but it hadn’t helped quite as much as Abby had probably hoped. Fireplaces still made Dot nervous.

But just then Dot glanced at the poker and she felt – not fine. Not even neutral, really. But she did, at least, feel a little less pressure on her chest.

Dot let out a long breath, and went to check the cornbread.

**Author's Note:**

> you can als find me at [@tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors](tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors.tumblr.com) over on tumblr!


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